


Sirius

by Lunar_Pull



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2029326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunar_Pull/pseuds/Lunar_Pull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know, objectively and logically, that he's not real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sirius

 

You know, objectively and logically, that he’s not real.

 

You’ve been seeing him since you were a young child, a shadowy figure in the corner of your eye, always in your peripheral vision, at first—like he was waiting for you to invite him into your life.

 

At sixteen, he slips into your dreams. Now that you can see him head on, you realize that he’s a gorgeous creature. He’s got long, graceful limbs that wrap around you, pouty pink lips that you love to drag your thumb across and a fire in his gaze. His eyes are so fierce and you know—the same way you know that he isn’t real—that you adore him.

 

He smiles every time he makes you scream his name in your mind and when you awake you are covered in your own cum and so utterly alone that your heart turns into a fist.

 

You can’t love anyone.

 

You go on dates, you hold their hands, you make them laugh and blush. Sometimes, you take one home and you try to make love to them, you want to know what it feels like when it’s real, but you feel like he’s watching you from the corner of the room and you can’t even stay hard.

 

You apologize to him in your dreams and he whispers in your ear, raspy voice trembling with emotion, that he understands, that you just need to hold on a little longer, that he’s trying to find you.

 

You have been seeing him for most of your life, the parts you can remember, at least, and it just keeps getting worse.

 

You don’t even know his name.

  

* * *

 

“Youngbae!” Seungri screams and your eyes fly open just in time to avoid walking into oncoming traffic.

 

“Shit, are you okay?” he says, dusting off your shoulders and, oddly enough, checking your pulse. “Are you drunk or something?”

 

You’re not drunk. You’re suffering from lack of sleep because you’ve been trying to avoid your dreams and avoid _him_. Trying to be normal and whatnot.

 

You also saw _him_ on the other side of the street and he flashed a smile that seemed more like a siren’s deadly call. You just had to follow.

 

“I’m okay,” you say, because you realized that Seungri is waiting for an explanation and he’s been your only friend ever since the accident so you figure he deserves more from you. “Just haven’t been sleeping much.”

 

He frowns—an expression that looks foreign and unfamiliar on his boyish features—and looks you up and down. He doesn’t believe you. You wouldn’t either.

 

“Should I take you to Dr. Kang?”

 

You sigh. You really, really, _really_ do not want to go to yet another doctor to try and help you recover your memories from before the accident and you certainly don’t want to tell them that you have been dreaming of and fucking an imaginary man because they’re just going to tell you that he’s not real and you already know that.

 

“No,” you try for your most sincere smile and Seungri’s hard gaze softens a bit, so it must be convincing enough. “Everything’s fine.”

 

You go to the restaurant and you let yourself get lost in Seungri’s exaggerated tales of his newest conquests and the delicious food he’s bought for you and it almost feels like a normal day, except you swear you feel the weight of someone’s stare on your back.

 

You know it’s not _his_.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Kang’s office is glaringly white and lacking any sort of decorations. It’s probably meant to be soothing, but it makes you nervously scratch your nails against the fabric of the couch you’re sitting in.

 

“Youngbae, in order for me to help you, you have to talk to me.”

 

You know that. _Obviously_ , you know that. Your gaze is still glued to the floor, the same spot you chose fifteen minutes ago, when you decided that you shouldn’t have listened to Seungri. You shouldn’t be here.

 

 _He_ is probably worried sick about you, since you haven’t slept in so, so long. You should probably just go home and slide into your bed and into his arms—

 

“You friend tells me you’re not sleeping well. How long have you had that trouble?”

 

 _For as long as I can remember_ , you want to say, but you don’t because it doesn’t really mean anything coming from an amnesiac.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Youngbae.”

 

You kind of hates the way he says your name with such honest concern. You want him to be a cold professional, like all the other doctors, not one with a shining smile and warm eyes. You feel like he’s trying to fool you.

 

“Your friend also tells me you’ve been rather paranoid lately,” Dr. Kang finishes.

 

You don’t want to look at him because you feel so weak and you know your resolve will crumble as soon as you meet his eyes but there’s a hint of skepticism in his voice and, suddenly, you fear the madhouse more than anything else.

 

“Please don’t send me away,” you beg, “please—I swear there’s nothing wrong with me. I swear it. I just can’t sleep, but it doesn’t affect my functioning. I am still a productive member of our society—”

 

It isn’t until you feel his hand latch onto your shoulder that you realize you’ve been rambling like the lunatic you’re trying to convince him that you’re not.

 

“I can’t promise that this will save you from the Readjustment Facility. But I can tell you that at the rate you’re going, you’re starting to arouse suspicions and I may very well be the only one that can help you.”

 

You finally meet his gaze. He seems truly worried about you.

 

“So, please let me help you.”

 

You take a deep breath and close your eyes.

 

You begin spilling your heart out.

 

* * *

  
 

His lips are tracing a burning path, down your torso, stopping every so often to focus on a spot until the skin turns bruised.

 

You moan when he catches your gaze. You always learn new things about him, in every dream. Tonight, you get a good look at his eyes in the sunlight for the first time and you try to commit to memory the flecks of gold that make his eyes a honey brown color.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” you praise him, involuntarily. His lips curve into a slight smile against your stomach.

 

“I miss you,” he says, before he continues kissing and licking his way further south.

 

Your fingers grip his bright pink hair—for some reason, he always has different hair—and when his mouth sucks you down, you gasp.

 

Later, when you’re on top of him—arms trembling with the effort it’s taking to hold yourself up and snap your hips hard into him, making him whimper and bite his bottom lip—you can’t believe that this isn’t real. Loving him is the only truth in your life and maybe it’s fucked beyond belief that you can only meet him in a dream world where the way his hands always slip into yours when you’re fucking him feels more real than anything in your daily, waking life.

 

But maybe it’s not. Or maybe, it just doesn’t fucking matter.

 

Because when he comes, he always wraps his slim arms around your neck and pulls you close, whispers that he needs you, that he loves you, that he’s waiting for you to come back to him.

 

This time, the dream doesn’t end right away. You have time to hold him in your arms and kiss his sweaty hair. You have time to promise that you’ll never try to keep yourself away from him again.

 

When you awake, your chest and torso are covered in hickeys.

 

* * *

  
 

“Have you seen him lately?”

 

You only nod. Dr. Kang seems to be infinitely patient with you and the way that getting you to talk is like pulling teeth.

 

“How often?”

 

“The usual.”

 

It’s a lie. For the past few months, you have been finding him everywhere. He’s not confined to your dreams anymore. The other day, you almost crashed your car because he suddenly appeared in the passenger’s seat and right at this moment, he’s standing behind Dr. Kang’s chair, arms crossed and his features set in a scowl.

 

He hates when you go to Dr. Kang.

 

“So the prescriptions aren’t helping then?”

 

He scoffs and you try to suppress a smile, making sure to keep your eyes from drifting to where he’s _not_ sitting on the arm of Dr. Kang’s chair, _not_ rolling his eyes.

 

You don’t tell Dr. Kang that the prescription bottle of medicine is still sitting on your kitchen counter, filled and untouched. You do want to get better, you want to avoid being sent to the madhouse and being readjusted but not enough to give him up. You’re not going to give him up for anything.

 

“How long have you been seeing him?” Dr. Kang asks. You’re intrigued because usually, he calls him a hallucination or a manifestation of your inner _blah-blah-blah_ but he almost never refers to him as a him.

 

“Since always,” you answer honestly this time. He smiles and winks at you and you can’t wait to fall asleep tonight.

 

“So he is in your memories from before the accident?”

 

“No, I don’t remember anything from before the accident.”

 

“So how do you know you’ve been seeing him forever?”

 

You hate Dr. Kang’s cutting questions sometimes. It makes you irrationally angry, like he’s trying to take something from you. You know you’re being ridiculous because he’s only trying to make you understand what you already know.

 

“I just know.”

 

“Let’s try something different. What do you remember from before the accident?”

 

Nothing. Blackness. An absolute lack of anything.

 

Your life began with a few flashes of fire and the sound of melting, groaning metal and you know that it’s the car crash that killed your entire family and left you alive because that’s what everyone tells you.  

 

You awoke in a white gown, in a hospital bed, with Seungri’s hand softly stroking your hair.

 

“I already told you. Nothing. I know I had a family because that’s what you and the police and Seungri tell me but I don’t remember them.”

 

“So let’s try this. Close your eyes and take ten deep breaths. Try not to think of anything, just breathe deeply and keep your eyes closed.”

 

You do as you are told. You can feel thin fingers interlock with yours and you know it’s not Dr. Kang because his voice is still on the other side of the room, counting down.

 

“Eight…” he says, and you feel his fingers tighten. Like he’s scared. You squeeze his hand.

 

“Five…” A flash of a grey walls and the sensation of rough fabric scraping against your skin.

 

“Three…” And now you’re breaking out into a sweat and the halls are so empty. You’re running and running, somehow your legs are too short to move any faster but there’s something sinister behind you and you know that if you falter, the darkness will swallow you whole.

 

“One.”

 

This memory isn’t blurry like the others. It’s so clear that you can’t believe you ever forgot. You were holding someone’s hand. Someone that mattered more than anything else.

 

And you let go.

 

* * *

 

“It was an accident,” you say to him. You’re not fucking like horny teenagers. You fell asleep as soon as you got home from your latest visit to Dr. Kang and when you found him, he was sobbing.

 

He’s buried in your arms and his tears are staining your shirt and shattering your heart into a million pieces but you want him to understand that you’d never leave him behind on purpose.

 

“I know,” he sniffles. You’ve never seen him like this. He’s got long hair this time, half of it is shaved off and the long strands of silky, colorful hair cover his face like a curtain.

 

You brush the hair from his eyes and cup his face. “I’m going to find you. I promise.”

 

He smiles a bit, and though there are tears in his eyes, on his cheeks, all over your hands, he’s still so damn pretty that it takes your breath away. You lean down to kiss him.

 

“Do you believe me now? Do you believe in me?” He looks up at you, eyes bright and hopeful.

 

You don’t answer him. You just kiss him hard, with all the passion you’ve always felt for him and you hope he understands what you mean.

 

* * *

 

You know—the same way you know that the sky is a hologram paid for by the new Earth government because the war left a sickening scar in our atmosphere and that the Readjustment Facility is just a nicer way to call the place where they send malcontents—that he _is_ real.

 

“I already told you, we met at school and we’ve been friends for years. You were in an accident three years ago that killed your family and you lost all your memories. That’s the truth.”

 

Seungri is lying. You are tearing your bedroom apart, searching for evidence because in the latest dream you’ve had, he told you that you always leave yourself little reminders, for emergencies, and even though you don’t understand exactly what he means, you believe him.

 

Because you love him. Because he’s real.

 

Because Seungri is lying to you.

 

“Youngbae, you’re acting crazy. I don’t want them to send you away, please just calm down.”

 

“He’s real. He’s real and I need to find him.”

 

“Who are you talking about?” Seungri screams, angry with you and with himself.

 

“Him. My, my—” You don’t even know what to call him. “I’m not crazy,” you say when you can’t find the right words.

 

“Yes, you are,” he cries. “ _I’m_ real, _this_ is real.”

 

He grabs your hand and leads you to the glass panes of balcony that overlooks the chrome city. “This is real. Do you remember how I told you I was scared of heights and I didn’t want you to buy this apartment? You told me that it didn’t matter because if I fell, you’d catch me. That was real.”

 

He spins you around and your heart sinks because there are tears forming in his eyes and you’re so tired of making beautiful boys cry. “You’re my only friend and I need you. I need you to be okay. I can’t be alone. I can’t live with myself if they send you away again.”

 

You frown. “Again?”

 

His eyes snap up immediately. He knows what he’s done. Seungri’s entire demeanor changes. He straightens his back, squares his jaw and looks straight into your confused eyes.

 

“Fine,” he says, defeated, and you suddenly feel like you can breathe.

 

* * *

 

You meet Seungri and Dr. Kang at an underground bar.

 

They rent a private room and they make sure to speak in code when ordering their drinks. The way they ask for their tequila sunrises roughly translates as _no cameras, give us privacy_ and you wonder how you could be a part of this world and still be so detached. So unaware.

 

“Do you know what happens at the Readjustment Facility?” Dr. Kang asks, voice much more serious than usual.

 

All you know is once someone gets sent there, they don’t come back.

 

“New memories,” Seungri clarifies. “When someone is a malcontent, they get sent to the madhouse, get imbued with new memories and then they are sent to a different part of the world to start a new, well-adjusted life.”

 

“I don’t understand. I was a malcontent?”

 

Seungri sighs and downs his drink in one long gulp before replying. “No. You were in love with one.”

 

You think of the smiles he always sends you right before he goes down on you and the word malcontent makes no sense. He seems so happy. He seems perfect.

 

“Is that who I keep seeing?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

 

“I wasn’t lying when I said you were my only friend. I remember when he came into our lives. He was a selfish son of a bitch and he dragged you into his stupid quest for individuality. He was the one sent to the madhouse, not you.”

 

“But why don’t I remember that?” Your head is starting to pound. Blurred memories and half-truths are making you dizzy.

 

Dr. Kang answers. “You had a botched readjustment. Seungri and I were assigned to keep you on the right path.”

 

“But I thought I wasn’t sent to the madhouse.”

 

Seungri interrupts. “You weren’t sent there, but you were an idiotic eighteen year old who went there of his own accord. You thought you could rescue him.”

 

Your head is spinning with all this knowledge and your heart, your heart is pounding faster and faster because memories are blooming in your mind, like wildflowers at dusk, and it hurts, but it’s a good hurt.

 

“Where is he?”

 

“There’s no way for anyone to know, so just drop it. He fucked up your life and you’re better off without him.”

 

Seungri’s chair makes a loud screeching noise when he stands up, dropping a few translucent bills on the table before unceremoniously leaving the private room. You know that deep down, he doesn’t expect you to leave it alone.

 

Still, you wish you could make him smile again.

 

* * *

 

“Why are you helping me?”

 

Dr. Kang always asks you to call him by his first name, Daesung, but that feels enormously strange so you settle for just never mentioning it. He’s wearing all black, hood drawn over the crown of his head, leading you through the night towards the abandoned part of the city.

 

“I loved a malcontent once, too.”

 

You don’t respond and he doesn’t explain further. There is a silence that you fall into and your thoughts are filled with the traces of your last dream, the one where you told him to hang on, that you were so close to finding him and he parted his legs, invited you into his body and whispered that he always knew you’d be the only one who could save him.

 

“Mine was worse than yours.” It takes you a moment to realize that Dr. Kang is continuing your earlier conversation. You don’t ask him for an explanation but Dr. Kang halts his steps and turns to face you.

 

“He’s the reason your readjustment was botched. He attacked the first Readjustment Facility.”

 

Fire. Melting metal. Burning flesh. It was all real.

 

“Your malcontent wanted to be an individual but mine,” Dr. Kang gulps uncomfortably. “Seunghyun just wanted to _destroy_ everything.”

 

There is a melancholy look in Dr. Kang’s eyes that you think will haunt you for the rest of your life.

 

“I loved him, though. With all my heart.”

 

You believe him. You think you hear him whisper something when he turns around and continues walking.

 

You think it sounded like he said, “I still do.”

 

* * *

 

You’ve been here before. Your mind is still blocking the actual memories, but your body remembers, your feet lead you down the long corridor in the decrepit building without having to think about it.

 

Dr. Kang stays outside. Says he’ll wait for you but he won’t step foot inside Seunghyun’s grave.

 

You remember the screams.

 

Constant yelps and cries of torture that streamed into your shared cell the night before his readjustment. That was the night you first made love. That was the night he begged you not to let them take him. That was the night you understood what loss was.

 

You remember the horror when they tore him out of your arms and his piercing screams.

 

 _Youngbae_ , he had shouted, _Youngbae_ , _don’t forget me_.

 

Your steps falter when you turn the corner and you see the room you were taken to. You recall the metallic screech of the drill they used to dig into your mind and you fall to the ground because this memory is too heavy and too intense.

 

Minutes later and an earth-shattering explosion later, you had been holding his hand as you ran as fast as you could down a hallway that never seemed to end. Government personnel ran after you and in the commotion of fire and and smoke and fear, your grip had slipped.

 

You had let go.

 

This is it. This is where you lost him.

 

You force yourself to stand up, even though you are nauseous and everything in your vision keeps spinning. Even though it seems impossible to move.

 

You have to keep going.

 

You have to find him.

 

It turns out that he finds you.

 

“Youngbae,” the voice that’s been haunting your dreams and inching into your reality for so long streams into your ears and everything is suddenly in its rightful place.

 

“Jiyong,” you sigh out as you turn to face him. You can’t believe you ever forgot his name because the way it rolls off your tongue feels as natural as breathing.

 

He’s thin—no, _gaunt_.

 

He’s still wearing a threadbare hospital gown and his face is covered in soot and dirt. His hair is plastered to the sides of his head and his eyes are only halfway opened. He’s walking with a slight limp.

 

You catch him when he collapses.

 

The moment his bony body lands in your arms, you remember everything. You remember it all.

 

Seungri never understood but it wasn’t his fault. He just never understood that you were made for Jiyong, ever since the stars exploded into the universe and time began, because you came from the same spark.

 

It was always meant to be.

 

That’s what your mothers didn’t understand.

 

You met him when you were five years old but really, you were just meeting him again. He kissed you on the lips at age ten and even then, you knew he’d be your end because he told you that the government was corrupt and you didn’t even question him.

 

Two days later, you both had your first readjustment.

 

He found you again at age fifteen, when you were both living in the same orphanage. He snuck into your bedroom window and kissed you again—this time with his tongue in your mouth—and you didn’t think it was odd that he always spoke of the past, even though he was so young and even though you didn’t remember it.

 

If Jiyong said it, it was true.

 

Another readjustment and you’re sitting next to Seungri in your first college class. He’s asking you for notes in the middle of the lecture and though you find him annoying, you also find him terribly endearing. Which is also annoying.

 

A week later, Jiyong strolls into class in an outfit that shouldn’t be so brightly colorful and skintight, but is. He flashes you a winning smile when he walks through the door and you decide right then and there that you’re going to be his. He winks at you from across the room and you feel like you already are.

 

When you take him back to your dorm room, it’s still daylight, but he’s already fumbling with your belt and kissing your jaw, begging you to tell your roommate not to come back for a few hours.

 

You try to protest, something about how you’ve only just met falls from your lips and he stops his attack on your neck to look into your eyes with the most disappointed face you’ve ever seen. He sighs and rests his forehead against your shoulder.

 

“Oh, Youngbae,” he mourns. “Don’t you remember?”

 

You don’t. But you wish, more than anything, that you did.

 

Falling in love with Jiyong is really more like remembering that you’re already in love with him and at the time you thought it was all so strange. Now, though, knowing what you know, it makes perfect sense.

 

You kiss him and blow him and do everything you can besides outright fuck him and you’re not really sure why you’re both holding back, it doesn’t seem to matter. He just wants to make you smile. Jiyong always tells you he adores your smile and your laugh.

 

“It’s like a supernova,” he says. “Bright and powerful. The beginning and the end of the whole universe.”

 

He talked like he’d seen one and now you know that he had, but so have you.

 

Back then, you’d only just laughed harder and told him he was crazy.

 

Seungri thought you were the most adorable couple in the world until he overheard Jiyong talking about the evil of conformity and the corruption in our government.

 

He’d only been trying to be a good friend. He’d only been watching out for you.

 

When they took Jiyong away, you almost blamed Seungri except that deep down, you knew you would have done the same thing. He just didn’t know that Jiyong is made for you the same way you are made for Jiyong and nothing—not readjustment, not careful doctors, not death itself—will ever keep you two apart.

 

The rest, you already know.

 

Dr. Kang’s malcontent had tried to free his comrades from the madhouse that you and Jiyong were sent to and ever since then, your own broken mind and heart has been trying to lead you back here to finish what you started.

 

To save your love. To find your other half.

 

Again.

 

* * *

 

You’ve been watching him sleep for hours.

 

You and Dr. Kang tried to clean him up as much as possible, but he’s still so dirty. He’s lying so still and at first, you panicked, thinking he was dead, but Dr. Kang checked his pulse and reassured you that he’s still alive. That he’s only resting.

 

“You should sleep, too,” He tells you before he leaves your apartment. You thank him for his help and advice, but there’s no way in you’re going to miss a second of this.

 

Jiyong’s eyes flutter open, reminding you of the butterflies you used to chase together when you were small children and the ones that made their way into your stomach when you were teenagers.

 

He looks at you, eyes asking a silent question that you understand, because you understand everything now.

 

“I remember,” you say, making him break out into a grin that makes his chapped lips crack and bleed.

 

“Finally,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “You never remember.”

 

You peck a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “I know. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” he says, arms finding their way onto your shoulders as he drags you from your chair. Drags you on top of him. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

 

He’s in a weakened state but he’s already rolling his hips against your crotch and you’re about to give in when he sucks in a sharp breath when you rest too much weight on his ribcage. You don’t know what he’s been through, but you’re afraid to harm him further.

 

“Can you stand?” you ask, and when he nods, you grab his hand and lead him into the bathroom.

 

You busy yourself with finding towels and making sure the temperature is right and when you turn around, your heart skips a beat. Jiyong’s already taken off all of his clothes and though there are some bruises and scars, his body is still the stuff of dreams. Milky white starlight skin and graceful, narrow hips. Eyes that see right through you.

 

You make to leave the room when his hand catches your arm, grip so tight it makes you wonder if he’s really as weak as he seemed moments ago. “Aren’t you going to help me in?”

 

You gulp, but you do what he asks. You always do.

 

When he’s under the spray of the water and you notice that his grip on your forearm hasn’t loosened, it’s too late to fight back. He pulls you in with him, fully-clothed.

 

Your lips crash against his and his body, naked and wet, feels so fucking good—too good, probably—against your soaked clothes. He makes the most delicious, blissed out sounds—sharp gasps and little moans of your name—and you no longer care about hurting him, you just need to be inside of him. Make sure this isn’t another dream.

 

He seems to be on board because he helps you undo your belt and when he looks down at your achingly hard cock, his eyes light up.

 

“You grew up,” he says. Three little words shouldn’t make you blush so furiously, but it’s the awe and wonder in his voice, the seductive implication, the way he chews on his bottom lip like he’s starving for you.  

 

You’re too shy to respond with anything remotely as sexy so instead, you get on your knees and worship him with your mouth. He throws his head back and groans, fingers pulling at your wet hair as he mutters curses under his breath.

 

You remember how much it turns you on, to have the thick, heavy weight of him in your mouth, to turn him into a writhing, begging mess with only your tongue. When he comes, you swallow the bitterness without even thinking about it. You lick him clean.

 

The sexual tension is eased, so you have time to wash him properly. He’s boneless in your hands, barely standing on his own, but he’s still taking every opportunity to kiss you and it means the world to you.

 

 _He_ means the world to you.

 

When he’s caught his breath and you’ve finished washing him, his hands wraps around your cock and his lips find the shell of your ear.

 

“Take me now,” he rasps, and you oblige him.

 

You kiss him brutally, no time to make this slow and tender because you’ve been waiting for this for much too long and there will be time for slow and tender later. Now, you scissor him open with slicked fingers and you lift him up easily and carefully, like he’s made of glass. His legs wrap around you instinctively and your cocks rub together in a way that makes you almost pass out.

 

You lower him back to the floor of the tub when you've had your fill and the way he grins makes you frown inquisitively.

 

“You’re still wearing your clothes,” he says, and you look down at the pants pooled around your ankle and the dark t-shirt that’s thoroughly soaked. Your shoes are ruined. You find that you really don’t care.

 

He kisses you on last time, deep and soulful, before he’s turning around, bracing his arms on the shower tiles and pushing his bare ass against your bare length. You slide into him as quickly and carefully as you can, grip tight on his razor sharp hips. You fuck into him and it feels like home.

 

He comes for a second time, dick untouched, just from the way you’re relentlessly brushing against a spot inside him that makes him scream. You come seconds later, head and heart spinning from the rhythmic snapping of your hips, the heat of the water, the way that Jiyong’s body fits perfectly in your hands.

 

You love him and he’s real. That’s all that matters.

 

* * *

 

Two days is all you get.

 

You are wrapped up in each other, sleep-walking through life holding hands and kissing madly, staying up all night and falling asleep with the sunrise.

 

You haven’t been to work and you know they are coming. You’re surprised they haven’t come sooner. You’re the only two people in the world who have ever overcome readjustment.

 

He’s colored his hair blue—you took him to the drugstore and helped him pick out the perfect hue. You know him. You know he needs to be different.

 

Right now, you are brushing blue strands from his eyes and lying in bed together. Looking into each other’s eyes. Waiting for the inevitable.

 

“Youngbae,” he begins, voice soft in a way that makes you think that no one but him should ever say your name again. “Please don’t forget me this time.”

 

“I won’t,” you promise. “Never again.”

 

“I love you,” he says, right before he gives you a kiss that feels like goodbye.

 

“I love you, too,” you respond, because it’s the reality, the only truth, the only fact that's ever mattered. “Always.”  

 

Seconds later, they break down your front door.

  

* * *

 

You are holding his hand and running for your life again.

 

This time, you’re running through lush green grass, dodging trees and feeling a foreboding sense of utter confusion because this is definitely uncharted territory and you have absolutely no idea where you’re going.

 

It was Seungri who saved you this time. The two agents that the government sent after you and Jiyong fell easily to his quick movements and loaded gun. You had always suspected that Seungri hid a lot more than he revealed and with two lifeless government agents at his feet, your suspicions are confirmed.

 

“You’ve got to get out of here,” Seungri says.

 

You panic. You think he’s just sacrificed his freedom and mind for your doomed love but he says he's got a plan. He takes you to the edge of the city, where the ramshackle tents of the poor are gathered and the domed hologram doesn’t quite reach. The sun is setting, rendering the sky a sorrowful maroon color, and the scar along the horizon is darker than you imagined it would be.

 

After the tented city of the unfortunate, there is nothing but a thick forest.

 

“There are people out there. Malcontents who escaped the madhouse. I think if you make it far enough, you might find people who will take you in.”

 

“You think?” Jiyong asks, pressing closer to you the way he always does when he’s scared.

 

Seungri nods gravely. He’s done all he can for you.

 

“What about you?” you ask. You’re still afraid for him.

 

He smiles. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’ve got a lot more tricks up my sleeve.”

 

“Thank you,” you say. You embrace him, maybe for the first time. Definitely for the last.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in your ear, “for what I did.”

 

“It’s okay,” you say. You forgave him ages ago.

 

He gives you one last smile before he pushes you through the crack in the security walls. That’s when you start running.

 

You’re not sure if someone’s chasing you but escapes tend to be urgent so you run anyway. You keep a tight grip on Jiyong and every once in a while, you look back at him, making sure that he’s still here, that this isn’t all some elaborate dream.

 

Every time you look back, the city is smaller, less imposing, and Jiyong’s eyes have that fire that reminds you of his tenacity and his short temper. All the things that make him real.

 

He grins back at you, wild and free, like he’s always been meant to be. A flare of burning star, a comet in the night sky.

  

A flash of brilliance.

 

He smiles at you and you are no longer afraid.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sirius is the brightest star in the sky, as seen from Earth.


End file.
